November 15, 2010

philosophy with a five-year-old

Look at this little pip of a girl, playing her fiddle in her "queen's gown" (really, a thrifted silk robe from her dress-up box). How can I be mad at her? But mad at her I have been... She has been so full of SASS lately! I don't know if its starting school, or the time change, or just her personality (probably all of the above) but she has been talking back so much lately, and its making me c.r.a.z.y.

Tonight I really flipped out at her after she informed me that she didn't care what I said. (I may have gotten in her face, grabbed her wrist and growled, "Well, you'd better START caring because I'm your mother!" but it can't be confirmed.) After I got quite red in the face and very angry with her, she burst into tears and told me that when I talk to her that way it makes her feel like she doesn't want to be in my family any more. (When I was relaying this story to Dave, his reply was, "Where'd she learn to talk in 'I feel' statements?") I told her that I was sorry I yelled at her, but that God put us together in the same family, so we were going to have to learn how to get along. After some snuggles things were better, for awhile...

Tonight when he was putting her to bed, Dave was talking things over with her, and trying to make the connection between caring for a person, and caring about what they say. He was explaining that when you care about someone you care about their feelings, how they're doing, if they live or die, what they say...

Papa: "Do you care about Mama?"

Little C, frankly: "Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't."

Papa: "Do you know what caring is?"

Little C: "No."

Papa: "If you care about someone you think that they're important. Do you think Mama's important?"

Little C: "Yes, but I don't care if Mama lives or dies."

Papa: "Well, when someone dies, you don't get to see them again, honey!"

Little C: "Yes you do! When YOU die, then you get to see them in heaven... Well, that's what Ibelieve!"

Papa to himself, "Oh boy, how did I get here?" So much for his great paternal wisdom... Whooped again by the five year old.

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philosophy with a five-year-old

Look at this little pip of a girl, playing her fiddle in her "queen's gown" (really, a thrifted silk robe from her dress-up box). How can I be mad at her? But mad at her I have been... She has been so full of SASS lately! I don't know if its starting school, or the time change, or just her personality (probably all of the above) but she has been talking back so much lately, and its making me c.r.a.z.y.

Tonight I really flipped out at her after she informed me that she didn't care what I said. (I may have gotten in her face, grabbed her wrist and growled, "Well, you'd better START caring because I'm your mother!" but it can't be confirmed.) After I got quite red in the face and very angry with her, she burst into tears and told me that when I talk to her that way it makes her feel like she doesn't want to be in my family any more. (When I was relaying this story to Dave, his reply was, "Where'd she learn to talk in 'I feel' statements?") I told her that I was sorry I yelled at her, but that God put us together in the same family, so we were going to have to learn how to get along. After some snuggles things were better, for awhile...

Tonight when he was putting her to bed, Dave was talking things over with her, and trying to make the connection between caring for a person, and caring about what they say. He was explaining that when you care about someone you care about their feelings, how they're doing, if they live or die, what they say...

Papa: "Do you care about Mama?"

Little C, frankly: "Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't."

Papa: "Do you know what caring is?"

Little C: "No."

Papa: "If you care about someone you think that they're important. Do you think Mama's important?"

Little C: "Yes, but I don't care if Mama lives or dies."

Papa: "Well, when someone dies, you don't get to see them again, honey!"

Little C: "Yes you do! When YOU die, then you get to see them in heaven... Well, that's what Ibelieve!"

Papa to himself, "Oh boy, how did I get here?" So much for his great paternal wisdom... Whooped again by the five year old.